


Just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:09:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 8,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: First sentence fills from tumblr, short and sweet





	1. "I don’t like being told what to do unless I’m naked."

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of super short (super sweet) tumblr fills that I'm moving to here because I like to keep track of my word counts!

“I don’t like being told what to do unless I’m naked.”

Bellamy tries to wink at her and fails epicly, stumbling drunkenly over his pants around his ankles. Clarke shakes her head fondly, giving him a light push on his shoulders so he falls back onto the bed.

“Well you’re halfway there,” she tells him, wrestling his pants off. His arm comes around her waist and he tugs hard enough to make her fall, landing on top of him. He tries to kiss her but misses her lips, getting mostly her nose/cheek area instead.

“What are you doing?” She laughs when he licks at the tip of her nose.

“I’m putting the moves on you. Is it working?”

“Yeah, totally.” She kisses him softly and pushes him to roll away from her, then curls around his back. “You can put the moves on me when you’re sober. Go to sleep, babe.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Bossy.”

Clarke kisses him behind his ear. “I’ll show you who’s boss in the morning.”


	2. "I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.”

“I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.”

Bellamy looks up and has to just blink for a minute. He’d heard Clarke use her key to get in, but he wasn’t expecting to see his best friend is drenched from the thunderstorm outside with a bright blue bra visible in _HD_ through her soaked white shirt and a pitiful look on her face. He lifts an arm immediately and Clarke sniffles before coming over to stand in front of him, still unsure.

“I’ll ruin the couch,” she hedges. Bellamy rolls his eyes and pats the seat next to him, but before Clarke can sit down, his dog Ellie jumps into the vacant position. It at least makes Clarke laugh, a weak noise.

“She’s like a shark. Just  _waiting_  for the invitation,” he grumbles, standing and guiding Clarke over to his spot with firm hands. “Don’t move. I’m going to get you dry clothes.”

By the time he gets back with a pair of his coziest sweatpants and a towel and some heated up soup and a six pack (so sue him, he’s absolutely the Mom Friend and he rocks it), Clarke is dozing on Ellie, face pressed into fur, the dog arranged protectively around her. He smiles and wedges himself in beside them, stroking Ellie’s nose.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

As he restarts his show, Clarke’s fingers tangle with his. She squeezes once before she drifts all the way to sleep.


	3. "Let’s just stay in bed.”

“Let’s just stay in bed.”

“Can’t,” Clarke grunts. It’s a minor miracle she’s formulating any words before coffee. Even one-word sentences are a victory. “School. Work.”

Bellamy kisses her hair. “Who needs them?”

“Landlord.” She kisses his chest. “Groceries.” The next one lands on his shoulder. “Netflix.” The next one lands on his neck as he rolls onto his back, pulling her on top of him.

He strokes his hand down her side and chases the stale taste of sleep from her mouth. “Sex,” he murmurs against her mouth and feels her grin.

“You make a compelling point.”

They’re both late, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to regret it one bit.


	4. “I would’ve had breakfast ready but you were sleeping on my arm and I didn’t want to wake you.”

 

“I would’ve had breakfast ready but you were sleeping on my arm and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Clarke cracks her neck as she sits up. The rest of their friends are wedged into various sleeping bags, heads pillowed on stomachs and thighs and backpacks. They probably should have gotten more than the one tent but, well, they’re cheap.

“I wasn’t even aware we were going to eat breakfast,” she whispers, following Bellamy out to the little grill outside. He gives her a look.

“It’s the most important meal of the day, Clarke.”

“Yeah, but– You said we were ‘roughing it.’ What are we having, pinecones and bark?”  
  
“I thought I’d cook this bacon I brought, but if you’d rather have indigestion–”

“No, no,” Clarke insists, grabbing onto his arm before he can keep pretending to toss the bacon in the garbage. “Bacon is good. We need protein for– outdoorsy stuff.”

“Very convincing.” He rolls his eyes. “I also brought instant coffee if you want to start warming the kettle.”

Clarke kisses him on the cheek, grinning when his expression goes from smug to flabbergasted in a millisecond. “You’re the best, Bell.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles but his cheeks are pink and Clarke calls it a win.


	5. “I think I might be pregnant.”

“I think I might be pregnant.”

Miller squints at the screen. “Yeah, you definitely look pregnant.” He turns to squint at Monty. “Can male sims get pregnant?”

“I knew making one of them look like me was going to come back to bite me in the ass,” Monty laughs.

“Biting in the ass is probably not what got you into this situation,” Miller says fairly, typing something on his phone. “Okay yeah, it looks like you must’ve gotten abducted by aliens. According to Google, your baby will have access to ‘pure alien powers,’ whatever that means.”

Monty wets his lips. The thing he’s thinking about saying is a little scary, but– Miller _has_  been watching him play Sims 4 for an hour. People don’t just _do_  that, right? Maybe he can Google that too.

“You know,” he says, impressed with how even his own voice sounds. “It’s probably better for my alien spawn to have another parent. Since obviously I’m not paying enough attention all on my own.”

Miller rests his chin on Monty’s shoulder, his chest very close to Monty’s back.

“You’re right. We should try to make it work. For the kid’s sake.”

Monty grins. Maybe he doesn’t need Google after all.


	6. “Friends don’t usually ask other friends to help them make babies, but sure, I’m down.”

“Friends don’t usually ask other friends to help them make babies, but sure, I’m down.”  
  
“Thank you,” Bellamy sighs, dumping an armful of construction paper and glue sticks onto the desk in front of her. Clarke grabs one and a pencil.

“What are art teachers for?”

“Presumably leading lives of their own instead of turning sacks of flour into fake babies for someone else’s students to take care of.” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, stressed, and Clarke tries not to think he’s cute. They’re _work friends_. She can look somewhere else for a hookup.

“You know you could make the students do the decoration part?”

“Believe it or not, I suggested that.” He makes a face. “Vera insisted this is the way she’s always done it, so this is the way we both have to do it.”

“Isn’t the whole point of you taking over one of her Home Ec sections that she didn’t have to micromanage so much?” 

“From your lips to Principal Wallace’s ears.”

They get the ‘babies’ done just as the sun is starting to go down and Bellamy lingers when he walks her to her car. 

“I should really repay you. For helping me out.” Clarke starts to wave the idea away but before she can he interrupts, “I could buy you dinner?”

She bites the inside of her cheek, tempering her smile.

“Dinner sounds perfect.”


	7. “Will you shut up for one second? I’m trying to tell you I love you and you’re making it really hard to think.”

“Will you shut up for one second? I’m trying to tell you I love you and you’re making it really hard to think.”

Nate bites his lip. Monty has been talking around the subject for the past ten minutes at least, going on and on about how _sometimes you just know_  without ever saying _what_  he ‘just knows,’ so Nate tried to step in with the assist. He’d dropped the L-bomb first, hoping it would make it easier for Monty to get to the point, or at the very least, less nervous. Instead, he seems to have offended.

“Okay, okay. This is me shutting up. Carry on.”

Monty huffs. “No, I’ve lost my train of thought. Now I have to start all over.”

“Shit,” Nate laughs, pulling him in with a hand around his waist. “Can’t you just–”

Whatever either of them was going to say is lost when Monty launches toward him and kisses him soundly on the lips. Nate slides a hand to cup his jaw, softening it, letting Monty take the lead so he can pour everything he left unsaid into his actions.

“I’ve never said it to anyone before.”

“You’ve still never said it,” Nate teases. Monty bites his lip reproachfully and he laughs.

“Pretty sure you’ve got the picture.”

“Yeah. I got it. You can tell me later.”


	8. “You wanna get out of here?”

“You wanna get out of here?”

Clarke is loathe to admit it (just like she refuses to admit that Bellamy Blake is a big part of the reason she likes going out with her grad program on Thursdays) but her heart stutters for half a beat. She manages to work up a scoff anyway. 

“That the best you got Blake? I thought I was getting the secret to your success with women, not a half-assed cliche.”

Bellamy smirks at her knowingly. The asshole. “You think you can do better, Princess? Show me what you’ve got.”

Clarke straightens and pulls back her shoulders, letting her cleavage do at least half the talking for her. She also has to put a hand on his chest to steady herself, tipsy in her heels, but that could be flirting. In a certain light. 

He looks down at her hand and then his eyes flicker up to her lips. She watches him swallow.

“Your place or mine?” 

For a moment they just stand there, sharing the same square centimeter of air. Then he starts _laughing_. Clarke scowls and begins to pull away but he stops her with a hand on her waist.

“Yours,” he says, still laughing. “Definitely yours.”


	9. “They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly, this is getting dangerous."

“They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly, this is getting dangerous,” Bellamy grumbles as his feet slide on the tile again. He’s got goosebumps on his bare arms because the director keeps having them cut the water off between takes and the studio is freezing.

Clarke is sure Raven and the other techs know how to create the optimal amount of steam to obscure just the right amount of the action (they are aiming for PG-13, after all), but as one of the people who has to stand around in the almost-nude for hours on end, she wishes movie magic sometimes felt more…magical.

At least her costar is hot.

“Have you never had shower sex before?” She laughs, trying not to shiver. Bellamy looks over at the crew, crowded around one of the cameras, and puts his arm around her tentatively. She huddles closer to his warmth, one arm attempting to cover herself.

“Yeah, no,” he says. She can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. “The idea of having sex in the same shower as your sister’s Power Ranger shampoo kills the mood pretty quickly.”

Clarke laughs. “You know you’re an adult now, right? With your own place?”

“Haven’t gotten around to it.” She feels him shrug. “But I’m thinking maybe I should give it a try. You know, for role research.”

“Any actor worth his salt would.”

“Good point.” He pauses. “What about you? Are you with your salt?”

“I could be.” She’s glad he can’t see her face, because she's smiling ridiculously. “I bet your trailer has a pretty cramped shower. No potential of falling down.”

He laughs, shaking both of them, as the crew begins to disperse again. “Yeah, I bet it does.”


	10. “Marry me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canonverse!

“Marry me.”

Bellamy, who had been on the brink of sleep, stirs. “What?”

Clarke scowls at him. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“I might make you say it a lot more times,” he teases, sitting up and tugging her wth him. “Is marriage still a thing, post-post-apocalypse?”

She worries her lip and he thumbs at it until she kisses his finger instead. “I think we get to decide what’s a thing and what’s not. Do you– If you don’t want to–”

“I hadn’t considered it,” he says honestly. Even after a year back on the ground he hasn’t gotten over the fact that he gets to have this– Octavia alive and well, Clarke in his arms, and Madi sleeping in the rover only a few feet away.

He didn’t think he needed anything else, but–

“We could get married,” he decides. Clarke laughs and kisses the underside of his jaw.

“Don’t sound too eager, there,” she teases. “It doesn’t have to be like it was before. You and Madi and I are a family. Nothing can change that. I just want to make it– as official as official gets down here.”

Bellamy kisses her, soft and sweet.

“Family,” he says, voice rough. “I like the sound of that.”


	11. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

She feels Bellamy stiffen behind her, but only for a moment. Only out of surprise, she thinks.

The words have been on the tip of her tongue for months now, ready to spill out at any second. Usually she’s better at holding them back. Usually she’s more afraid what might happen if she lets them fall. But Bellamy hadn’t hesitated when he came home and found her crying in her bed, hadn’t pressured her to talk about it or given her too much space. He just climbed in behind her and curled around her, holding her tight.

That’s not him just being a good roommate or a good friend. Something about it made her anxious to have her confession out in the world.

“Is that why you’re upset?” He asks quietly, combing his fingers through her hair soothingly. She shakes her head.

“My mom started chemo today and I couldn’t be there because I just had to move a thousand miles away.”

“Marcus is there. She’s not alone.”

“I know.” Clarke’s hand finds his on her waist and squeezes. “It’s just been a long day and I’m tired and I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

He squeezes her hand right back. “The crying or the–”

“Both.”

“Okay. Well, I’m ready to say it back whenever you’re ready to hear it. Just– let me know.“

“It might be a little while longer,” she admits in a small voice.

He places a hesitant kiss on the bump of her spine at the base of her neck. Clarke lets her eyes flutter closed.

“Thats okay,” he says, soft. “Take your time.”


	12. “Oh don’t mind me. Just enjoying the view.”

“ Oh don’t mind me. Just enjoying the view. ”

Bellamy jumps, the ice cream spoon he’d been singing into like a microphone dangling from his mouth. Clarke is standing in the doorway looking tired and amused and _perfect_. He’s never seen anything so good.

He’s crossed the room and has her wrapped up in a hug before he even realizes he’s doing it.

“What are you doing here?” He laughs, kissing her hair. Her arms come around his back, her hands cold against his bare skin. He considers for a moment feeling self-conscious that she caught him singing and dancing in his boxers in their kitchen, but she’s not supposed to get back from her study abroad until next week. He can’t feel anything except happy.

“I lied about when I was getting home,” she admits, her breath warm on his neck. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“I was going to pick you up at the airport.”

“But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see the show.” 

“Four months,” he groans. “Four months apart and that ’s the first thing you see. ”

Clarke smirks, stepping away to look him up and down. “No complaints here. In fact, I think you should always greet me like this. It was perfect.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and hooks an arm around her, drawing her back in for a kiss. Both of them are beaming into it, but it’s all he’s been wanting for four months, so it’s exactly right. “Welcome home.”


	13. “I’d really love to help you with your crisis right now but if you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of naked.”

“I’d really love to help you with your crisis right now but if you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of naked.”

“Trust me,” Miller scoffs. “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t having a code red meltdown. I’m trying really hard not to see anything I don’t want to.”

“You wish you could get with this,” Bellamy grumbles, sitting up and adjusting the sheet so it drapes sort of… not artfully, but not tellingly, at least. He rubs his face and puts his glasses on so he can properly see the circles his flatmate is pacing. “I don’t get why you’re having a nuclear meltdown _today_. You’ve been flirting with Monty for weeks.”

“Yeah, _online_. Via _text message_. Not– He wants to meet. _In person_.”

“And here I always thought you being the one with the crisis would be a fun change of pace,” Bellamy sighs. “You like him a lot, huh?”

Miller deflates and drops to Bellamy’s desk chair, spinning around and tipping his head back. “What if it’s different in person? What if it isn’t as good?”

“Then it’ll suck, but– you know him pretty well by now. If he’s not into you, or if you guys don’t hit it off, is he gonna be a dick about it?”

“I’m not convinced he’s capable of being a dick for longer than one or two quippy comebacks.” Miller’s eyes fall shut and Bellamy can’t tell if it’s embarrassment at having feelings, general fear and anxiety, or that Bellamy’s sheet isn’t as opaque as he hopes. “I really want this to work out.”

“I know,” Bellamy tells him, one hand pulling the comforter up over his lap as he reaches out with the other to clap Miller awkwardly on the shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, I think it’s going to.”

Miller snorts and Bellamy is distantly aware of the sound of the shower cutting off. “I appreciate the vote of confidence but I don’t know if we do genuine emotion often enough to call this ‘making me feel better.’”

Bellamy grins. “Maybe we should talk about our feelings more often.”

“Am I interrupting something? I can come back.”

Clarke is standing in the doorway in nothing but a towel, amusement written across her face. Bellamy can’t help the way his eyes trail down to the cleavage not well obscured by the towel, and down further to her bare legs. He sees her naked on a regular basis and still he can’t get over the sight of her.

“Not interrupting anything,” Miller says, staring pointedly at the ceiling. “I was just leaving.”

“The room or the apartment?” Clarke teases, stepping out of his way so he doesn’t have to look at her more than he has to. 

“Possibly the state.”

“Good talk,” Bellamy calls after him. Miller gives him the finger but shuts the door behind him, so Bellamy feels like it’s safe to wrap his arm around Clarke’s waist and drag her back down onto the bed. Her skin is damp and she smells fresh and sweet. Her laughter is even sweeter as he nuzzles her shoulder and neck, his stubble tickling her skin.

“I already showered,” she chastises, giving him a halfhearted shove. He flops onto his back, obliging, and grins goofily up at her.

“You know I can’t help myself when you’re standing there looking like that.”

“Mmm.” She rolls onto her side to kiss him, making an exasperated noise when he pulls at her towel, but letting him take it. “Lazy Saturday morning is a pretty good look for you too.”

He doesn’t check his phone until well after noon, but when he does he finds that Miller has sent him a picture. It’s him and a cute guy, cheek to cheek as they smile for the camera. 

 **Bellamy:**  Crisis averted?

 **Miller:**  Turns out, I saw your dick for nothing

 **Bellamy:**  So you’ve had a pretty great day  
Glad it worked out for you, man

 **Miller:**  Yeah, me too


	14. "I don't ever want to see your face again."

"I don't ever want to see your face again."

Bellamy frowns and takes one earbud out, looking around the coffee shop.

It's not hard to spot the speaker, the blonde girl at the table in the corner with an icy gaze and her mouth set in a firm, unforgiving line. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she's drawing away from the floppy-haired dude who was leaning across the table with an urgency that puts Bellamy on edge. Clearly a guy who doesn't know how to read body language.

"Clarke," he says in a pleading voice. The girl doesn't waver. "I don't want this to be the end for us."

"You didn't want to end things with your last girlfriend either," she says coolly. "Which is why she thought you guys were still dating."

"I know you're mad--"

"I mad. But more than that, I don't want to be with someone who could know they were hurting someone they cared about and do it anyways. I can't trust you, Finn."

Bellamy turns his music back on and tries to distract himself in his textbook. The guy is a douche, but it's none of his business and the girl, Clarke, seems like she can handle herself.

Still, he feels himself keeping tabs on them out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't completely tune them out until the guy leaves, tail between his legs, and the girl slumps in her chair and closes her eyes.

After a minute or two, he gets up and goes to the counter. He orders a brownie for Clarke and goes and sits back down.

He hears the name called once, twice, and then he feels a tap on his shoulder. The girl is standing there, brownie in hand, glaring.

"What is this?"

"It's a brownie."

"I know it is, but--"

"It looked like you needed it for putting up with that conversation."

Her glare hardens impressively. "So what, you were eavesdropping and decided now was your chance to make a move? Do you not realize what kind of mood I'm in?"

Bellamy mutters a curse and turns to fully face her. "It's a no-strings brownie. Promise. Eat it, trash it, whatever. Just-- it seemed like you were having a shitty day. It seemed like a nice gesture."

Her jaw snaps shut and she stares at him for a minute.

"What now?" He grumbles. "You're allergic to chocolate?" He reaches for the plate. "I'll eat it if you're so insulted."

"No." She turns away, cradling the brownie protectively. "Its my nice gesture."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Good."

She pauses for another moment before saying, "Thanks," and retreating awkwardly to her table. Bellamy blinks at his textbook, trying to calm himself so he can get back to studying. His exam the next day isn't going to give him a break just because he's thrown off his game by a pretty (if angry) girl.

He's trying so hard to focus he jumps when a heavy stack of medical texts is dropped in front of him.

"The light is better over here," Clarke mumbles, biting her lip. "You mind?"

Bellamy clears his threat. "Not at all."

Her feet bump his under the table as she gets situated, tucking her short hair behind her ears and curling her fingers over the sleeve of her hoodie adorably.

They sit in companionable silence for a little while, Bellamy all too aware of his new study buddy, before he hears the scrape of the ceramic plate across the tabletop.

"Brownie?" She asks, not looking up.

Bellamy smiles, reaching out to pinch off a bite. "Don't mind if I do."


	15. "Mmm… you’re warm.”

“Mmm… you’re warm.” Bellamy mutters, dragging the furs back over them as Clarke tucks herself back into his side, running her fingers tenderly over Thalia’s tiny nose and round cheeks. 

“You’re not,” she grumbles.

“No, but I braved the cold to get her to stop fussing, so you better put up with it.”

“My hero,” she teases, pressing her lips first to the top of Thalia’s head, then to Bellamy’s fleetingly before she nestles back down. “Why’d you bring her over? That wasn’t her hungry cry.”

“Didn’t want to get up again.” He strokes his fingers over her tiny, perfect knuckles, her little fists so pink and soft he hopes the world he and Clarke and the others have built will never make her learn to rough them up. 

“We should go back to sleep,” Clarke murmurs. “We’ll regret it tomorrow if we don’t.”

“I checked the window. There’s a good foot of snow on the ground. I bet everyone will be taking the day off.” He noses the top of her head. “And anyway, I want to enjoy this a little longer.”

He can feel that his wife is on the verge of protest but then Thalia makes a snuffling noise in her sleep and Clarke is basically powerless to resist.

“Alright,” she sighs, resting her head on his chest. “Just a few more minutes.”


	16. "I want to try for a baby."

“I want to try for a baby.”

“Bellamy almost chokes on his cereal.

“Really?” He asks when he’s done coughing. Clarke looks put out, which isn’t good. He just always assumed he’d be the one to bring up the kids conversation. 

“I saw one the other day and it was really cute.”

“And you were just like, yeah, I want that?” 

“Is that not enough of a reason?”

“You don’t usually think with your heart like that. I thought you’d have arguments or something.”

“Well I thought you’d be the easy sell,” she huffs. “I have arguments prepared for Madi. Or– well, not arguments but reassurances. That she’s just as much our kid as our biological kid would be, that not every sibling is as intense about it as you are–”

Bellamy laughs and reaches for her. Clarke is still frowning but she puts down her coffee mug and lets him tug her into the circle of his arms. With him seated at the kitchen table, she’s a little taller than he is, the perfect height to rest her arms on his shoulders.

“You don ’t have to sell me on it, ” he promises. “I’m sold. Of course I want to have kids with you, and probably start fostering older kids again when we think we can handle it.”

“Yeah?” Her fingers draw loops in his t-shirt that he knows means she’s thinking. “I know– You just got Octavia through school, and I’ve had Madi since before we were even together. It’s never been just the two of us.”

“I’d want to keep fostering even if we didn’t have kids of our own,” he points out. “It’s not like kids are a dealbreaker for me.”

She still looks uncertain so he leans in and gives her a flurry of quick kisses until she’s laughing and trying (not very hard) to push him away.

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re a fan of the idea,” she laughs at last, catching his face and holding him still for a deeper kiss. 

“Hey.” He breaks away and bumps his nose against hers. “I think we should try for a baby.”

“Hey no way, me too.” She grabs his hand and pulls him out of the chair, leading him back toward their bedroom. “Madi won’t be up for another couple of hours. Maybe we should get started.”

Bellamy grins. Clarke is just full of good ideas this morning.


	17. "You have something in you hair.. um–do you want me to get it out?”

“You have something in your hair.”

Clarke scowls at Bellamy, who throws her one of his infamous smirks. She’d like to slap it right off his face. Or kiss it off. Definitely one of the two.

“You don’t say.”

His smirk only deepens. Clarke never would have signed up for this nutrition science lab if she’d known it involved so much _cooking_. The hot TA should have been a perk, but he has a penchant for being nearby whenever anything goes remotely wrong for Clarke, and then making fun of her for it. Which happens to be often.

She’s less upset about the sauce in her hair than the splatter that landed _inside_  her shoes, but she didn’t need Bellamy pointing it out to her either way. Dick.

“Do you, um–” His eyes flicker to the clock. “Do you want me to get it out?”

Clarke blinks in surprise. “Beats being known as sauce girl.”

Bellamy snorts, jerking his head for her to follow. “I’m sure they’d come up with something more creative than that.”

They make their way back to a room Clarke hasn’t been in before, where there’s a deep sink with one of those extendable hoses. She guesses it must make washing out beakers a lot easier.

He has her lean back so her head rests on the edge of the sink and Clarke sort of feels like she’s back at the fancy hairdresser her mom used to take her to as a kid. The water is warm and Bellamy’s hands are really very nice (she’s noticed before), something steadying and soothing about having his fingers running between the strands, kneading at her scalp.

“All done,” he says at last, clearing his throat. He disappears for a moment and when he returns, he hands Clarke a small but clean rag.

“Maybe next time you can stand beside me and watch what I’m doing wrong instead of hovering at a distance,” she teases, squeezing the water from her hair. Bellamy ducks his head.

“I’ve been assigned to shadow Jasper,” he admits. “It’s just convenient that your station is next to his. But– I could give you some pointers outside of class sometime.”

“Are you offering to cook me dinner?”

“I’m offering to teach you to cook me dinner,” he corrects her quickly. The smirk is back but Clarke finds she doesn’t mind so much. “Unless you’d rather master it on your own.”

“No, no,” she assures him. “Pointers would be good.”

“Good.” He smiles. “It’s a date.”

(She finds out later that kissing the smirk away is a very effective method after all.)


	18. "I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice Mechanic!

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

Raven doesn’t even look up from the carburetor she’s reassembling. She didn’t get to be where she is by letting douchebags distract her, even if they are douchebags with rugged good looks and technical authority over her. 

“And here I was under the impression we were in some professional workplace.”

“Well, I’m glad to be able to correct you.” Roan pokes her arm again, this time rubbing at a grease stain on her elbow. Raven grits her teeth and refrains from scowling at him. For one thing, he’s her boss, and she should at least attempt to conceal her open disdain. For another, she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under her skin.

Which he absolutely has, and it’s completely annoying.

“I like to think of myself as a down-to-earth kind of boss,” he muses, picking up a wrench and turning it over in his hands thoughtfully. “I know some people say I’m–”

“Obnoxious?” Raven takes the wrench from him. “Don’t mess with my tools unless you want this to take ten times longer. I have a system.” She pauses, realizing she actually needed the wrench he’d picked up, and works her jaw as he smirks.

“I prefer eccentric,” he says mildly. “But that makes me interesting.”

With his pinky finger he nudges a screwdriver in her direction and Raven huffs as she swaps it out for the one in her hands.

“Most people prefer f– weirdo.” She catches herself at the last minute. “Is there a point to this _fascinating_ character study or can I get back to work?”

“You work too hard.”

“Things I never thought I’d hear from my boss.”

“Then you haven’t had bosses who recognize your talent.” His voice grows more serious and Raven can’t help but wonder whether the eccentricity isn’t a bit of an act. An act he enjoys, but an act nonetheless. “You’ve got a sharp mind, Raven. But you can’t put it to work sixty hours a week and expect not to burn out at some point. You’re too valuable for that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe. But I’d like for you to be better than fine. I think you could be phenomenal.”

Raven does pause and look over at him now. Flattery hasn’t gotten douchebags anywhere in the past either, but she’s a sucker for sincerity. Hook, line, and sinker. 

“So, what? I don’t scale back on my hours and I get a slap on the wrist?”

“No.” He frowns. “I’d like to have a conversation about what we can do to ease your workload. Perhaps hiring you an assistant who can assume some of your responsibilities. And remind you to take breaks.”

“That’s what phone alarms are for,” she grumbles. He smirks, slow.

“An assistant is harder to ignore. I can train them in how to be persistent. I have a one hundred percent success ratio.”

Raven sighs and rolls her shoulders back. She’s surprised to find that she’s a little stiff; it’s been a while since she moved. Much as she hates to admit it, he might have a point.

“Fine,” she sighs. His smirk widens and she points her wrench at him. “But I have some conditions.”

Infuriatingly, the smirk doesn’t leave his face.

“I thought you might.” He straightens. “I had food delivered for dinner about ten minutes ago. I thought we could discuss your conditions while you take a break and eat something.”

“I don’t know, I don’t like to reward bad behavior.”

“ _Eccentric_  behavior,” he corrects her, standing and offering her his hand. She takes it, letting him help her off of her stool. 

“ _Obnoxious_  behavior,” she amends as she follows him out of her office and down the hall to the conference room. 

“Say what you want for now,” he laughs. “I think you’ll come to appreciate it.”

And though she’s loathe to admit it, in time she kind of does.


	19. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Bellamy hums, raising his champagne glass to his lips to disguise the murmur into his earpiece. “It’s no worse than Marrakech. Or Bosnia. Besides, you never think my ideas are good.”

Clarke huffs on her end and he smirks. She’s been his handler for a little over eight months now and he knows by now that critiquing his ops is how she shows she cares about him. 

Their first missions together had been battles, Clarke sticking too close to the rule book and Bellamy pushing back with experience and recklessness. He’d thought she was a princess of a desk jockey who was going to cramp his style and she’d thought he’d been undercover too long to keep his morals straight and it had been… rough, to say the least. But over time she figured out that his heart was in the right place, and he figured out that it actually helped him to have someone there to work out a smarter plan when he wanted nothing more than to bust in, guns blazing. He trusts her like he doesn’t trust anyone else, because she _earned_  it, and he thinks it makes them a good team.

He thinks it would make them a lot of good things together, but that’s a separate issue he’s dealing with.

“Some of your ideas aren’t awful,” she grumbles. “That yacht that one time was fun.”

“I thought you hated that one because you had to be in the field.”

“I hated the bikini,” she grumbles. “Nowhere to hide my gun. But we were on a boat in the middle of the Mediterranean. It’s not my least favorite place we’ve ever been. Leagues better than this stupid gala.”

Bellamy spies his mark across the room and zeroes in his gaze, distractedly murmuring, “I liked the bikini. Wallace, nine o’clock.”

“I’ve got eyes on him,” she says after a moment. “You remember your cover?”

“Are you forgetting how much you quizzed me last night? I remember Lovejoy’s name better than my own at this point. Besides, I’m pretending to fence a Van Gogh, not make an arms deal. I’ve got this, Clarke.”

“Be careful.”

“Always am.”

This elicits a noise somewhere between frustration and concern from her but she doesn’t say anything else as he makes his way over to the leader of one of the world’s most notorious crime rings. Of course, Clarke is right and the plan does fall apart under pressure, but really, how was Bellamy supposed to anticipate that Wallace would have planted a _bomb_? She calls into HQ and they get Raven to talk him through disarming it, but in the end there’s not enough time. All he can do is evacuate the building and make a run for it.

When he finally makes it outside, soot and sweat mixing on his skin, he’s barely staggered down two of the wide steps before he’s got his arms full of Clarke. She clings to him and after a beat, he wraps himself around her just as tight. 

“You’re okay,” she’s repeating over and over again. Her body shudders, her tears wet on his neck, and he clutches her closer. 

“I am. I’m okay, Clarke.”

“Damn it, Bellamy.” She shoves him back, wiping furiously at her eyes. “This was so much worse than Marrakech. You are not allowed to die on me, okay?”

Her voice breaks and it breaks something in him too.

“I’ll do my best.” He pulls her back in with an arm loose around her shoulders and she lets him, closing her eyes when he kisses her forehead. “Wallace?”

“The away team got him a few blocks over.”

“I assume they’re waiting for us to debrief.”

“Probably.” She inhales shakily, linking her hands behind his back. “I just need another minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” he says, rubbing circles on her back that are as soothing to him as they are to her. They stand like that for a couple of minutes, a moment of calm amidst the chaos and sirens and panic all around them, and then she straightens and lets out a breath, offering him a small smile.

“Ready?” He asks, unable to stop himself from wiping a streak of his soot off her face with his thumb.

“Ready.” They fall into step as they head toward the surveillance van and after a beat of consideration he takes her hand. She laces her fingers between his without comment. He walks her to the driver’s side and she lingers by the door.

“You did good tonight,” she says. “Even if you took ten years off my life.”

He swallows and opens the door for her, giving her a hand up even though she doesn’t need one. “Thanks.”

Clarke smiles at him, and it feels both more promising and more dangerous than any other lead he’s ever faced. He’s so screwed. 

“And Bellamy?” She says, stopping him before he shuts the door. “I like the tux.”


	20. "No, I’m not letting you go. It's too early to get out of bed."

“No,” Clarke mumbles.

She doesn’t usually wake when Bellamy slips away from her bed, not exactly being an early riser, but this morning she tightens her grasp around his waist, trapping his legs with her own and curling her face further into the spot between his shoulder blades. He can feel it scrunch in displeasure and it makes him huff a laugh.

“Clarke–”

“I’m not letting you go. ’S too early to get out of bed.”

“Clarke,” he tries again, attempting to sound put out. In reality, he feels warm all over– the buzzing warmth where their skin touches; the contented, heavy warmth of furs tucked in around him and a spot in her bed shaped to his body; warm from the inside out.

“No.”

His hand finds hers.

“If I don’t leave now, all of Arkadia is going to know about us by lunchtime.”

“Don’t care.” Her arms tighten. “They already know anyway. They just don’t know we know.”

She has a point.

Bellamy sinks back down into her bed, pressing a kiss to her palm before resuming his place beside her. She makes a low noise of approval that rumbles through him, and he can’t quite tell whether the press of her lips on his spine is a kiss or just how they fit together.

It’s both, he reckons as he lets himself doze off again. And later, even as he can feel eyes on them everywhere they go, he can still feel her warmth wrapped around him.


	21. "What part of any of this makes you think I’ve moved on?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S5 feels, anyone?

“What part of _any of this_ makes you think I’ve moved on?”

His voice cracks as he speaks and it cleaves her heart in two. She hadn’t meant to reopen old wounds, but her talent for knowing just what to say, to be perfectly understood by Bellamy Blake, is a little rusty after six years apart. The silences between them are tinted with an awkwardness she can’t shake, their conversations fumbling no matter how well-intentioned.

Every time she sees him with the others who had been on the ring together, she’s struck with both longing and relief. As much as it stings to see him turn to Raven and Monty for their opinions, to watch him laugh easily with the others or exchange knowing looks, to know that she’s not one of them anymore, she is glad he had them. Glad he wasn’t facing his demons alone for six years.

If she couldn’t be the one to share his burden, it heals a small fraction of her to know he found others to pick up that load. But when she tried to voice that to him, it came out all wrong. 

“I–” She swallows hard, helpless in the face of his distressed expression. “You seem happy. Or– I’m just… glad you’re okay. I was worried about you up there.”

He gives a disbelieving laugh, letting his gun fall to his side like an extension of his body as he steps closer to where she stands.

“ _You_ were worried about _me_?” He repeats, like it’s the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. “I thought you died, Clarke. I was out of my _mind._ ”

“So I was right to worry.”

She tips her chin up to meet his gaze head-on, unfathomably deep and impossibly warm. The intensity of his gaze makes her breath catch, his nearness making her pulse race.

“I don’t want to be the reason you were miserable for six years,” she confesses softly. “I want you to be happy and okay.”

“I got better,” he says, giving her a rueful smile. “It got easier to live without you. That doesn’t mean I stopped missing you. That I didn’t wish you were there every damn day.”

“You didn’t need me.” She returns his smile, matching its wistfulness and regret exactly. “You kept them alive. You were the leader they needed, Bellamy. All on your own.”

A frown mars his features, visible even through the scruff that now adorns his jaw.

“That’s not why–” He shifts closer in that magnetic, familiar way she knows means he wants to reach out and touch her, but isn’t letting himself cross that line. “I needed _you,_ Clarke. Not a co-leader, not someone to be a pain in my ass, not just any friend or ally. They did their best, but– they weren’t you. Do you understand that? I need you to understand.”

Clarke stutters a laugh, unnerved by everything about this moment. Any immunity she’d built up to him before has long since vanished, and now she’s getting hit with the full, overwhelming force of him. It isn’t fair in the least.

“I understand,” she breathes.

He holds her gaze for a few beats longer.

“Okay, then.”

They fall into step, heading back toward camp without needing to discuss it. It’s encouraging. 

Clarke cracks a smile. “Sorry for insinuating you were happy.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “You should be.”  


“Won’t make that mistake again.”  


He ducks his head, smiling down at his scuffed boots. “For what it’s worth, I am happy. Now. But it has nothing to do with moving on.”

Clarke smiles her own private smile, watching him take note of it from the corner of her eye.

Maybe they are a little rusty, but they ’re finding their way back to each other. The way forward, side by side.  They ’ll get there. She can feel it. For now, she lets her hand drift slightly as she walks, grazing the back of his ever so gently.

“Sounds like we’re on the same page,” she says, tone light, keeping her eyes forward.

His hand brushes hers in return.

“Good.”

“Good.”

And it is.


	22. My shoes hurt my feet so you're going to carry me home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to put this up like a month ago whoops

"If you look at it a certain way, you brought this on yourself.”

Bellamy snorts and hitches Clarke higher on his back. She squawks in surprise, tightening her hold around his shoulders.

“In what world is it my fault you couldn’t make it the last six blocks on those torture devices you call shoes?”

“You won that fancy restaurant gift card at work–”

“Oh, my bad.”

“–you insisted we walk–”

“It’s a nice night!”

“–you invited me instead of that girl your sister wants to set you up with–”

“I didn’t want to waste the gift card on a meal I might want to rush through. Or have to worry about getting stuff in my teeth or in my shirt.”

“–but most of all I wore these shoes so you could appreciate how hot I am. Which, if you have noticed, you’ve kept quiet about. So I’m counting that as doubly your fault.”

Bellamy’s mind spins like a tire in the mud, replaying her words over and over, trying to find a way out but only sinking deeper into what he wants her to mean. What he hopes she means.

“How is it doubly my fault?”

“It’s your fault I wore them and your fault I gave up on them,” she grumbles. He can’t see her face, but he can picture her face, cheeks rosy from wine and embarrassment, eyes cool with feigned nonchalance.

He strokes his thumb over her knee where his hands are hooked under her legs. She shivers.

“I didn’t know an observation like that would be well-received,” he says at last. Clarke rests her face against his shoulder, lips pressed just inside his collar.

“You’re an idiot,” she says, fond. He can feel her smile and knows he’ll probably have a lipstick mark.

It’s worth it.


	23. "You've been here all day. Like literally all day. Are you okay? Do you need a snack?"

“You’re still here?”

Bellamy’s eyes burn when he blinks, like he maybe hasn’t done that in a while. He rubs at the sting, reveling the sweet relief even when it dislodges his glasses.

The barista who had let him in at five o'clock that morning (half an hour before the cafe officially opened) is standing next to his table with her arms crossed over her apron. She hadn’t questioned any of the refills on his large coffee, nor had she batted an eye at the multiple shots of espresso he’d needed to get through the day, but now it’s five p.m. and she’s looking at him like she’s questioning his sanity. He can’t really blame her.

“I’m thinking about moving in permanently. The chairs aren’t that comfortable, but the wifi is fast, so–”

To his relief, she laughs.

“You’ve been here literally all day. Are you okay? Do you need anything? A snack? A talking-to? A glass of cold water dumped on your head?”

“If there’s anyone around here who wants to finish my thesis for me before deadline tomorrow I’d take one of those.”

She smiles again, and he has to try really hard not to stare at her lips.

“I think we’re fresh out of those.”

“Then I’m set, thanks.”

“Okay.” She bites her lip, hands stuffed into her coat pockets like she is ready to leave, but she lingers for another moment. “I really am worried about you, though. If I bring you something to eat, will you actually eat it?”

“I never say no to free food.” He tries a smile. “But you might need to stick around to make sure.”

She smirks slowly, and what’s left of his brain melts with the action.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t even know you. Can’t just take your word for it.”

“Definitely not.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

When she slides in across from him with two egg salad sandwiches, he closes his laptop and stretches, realizing for the first time how hungry he actually is.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “I hear you’re on deadline. Wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, ducking his head on a smile. It isn’t as if he’s been making much headway in the past twenty minutes anyway. “I could use a distraction.”

“In that case–” She wipes her hand on her apron and holds it out for him to shake. “I’m Clarke.”

“Bellamy.”

He takes her hand, feeling for the first time all day like tomorrow might not be the end of the world.

As it turns out, it’s just the beginning.


	24. "Do you think I'm cute?" "Bellamy, babe, we've been married for 10 years"

“Do you think I’m cute?”

Clarke blinks, suddenly sucked out of the world of the novel she’d been working at (read: falling asleep to each night) by the unexpected question. Or rather, by the non-joking tone her husband had used in asking it.

“We’ve been married for ten years and you’re asking me this now?” Her lips quirk upward, but Bellamy keeps his eyes on the ceiling, one hand tucked under his head, and heaves a dramatic sigh.

She puts her book down. It’s obviously going to be one of those nights.

“You know that poll that went up on Buzzfeed last week?”

It takes her a moment. “The _Which member of the Delinquents would you be_  one?”

“Yeah.”

The conspiracy theory podcast he and Miller had started as a way to make fun of Murphy had somehow ballooned into a bigger phenomenon than anyone expected, so much so that the three of them have done a few live shows, and even have a tour booked for 2018. Bellamy apparently hasn’t gotten used to semi-celebrity enough not to Google himself yet.

“What about it?”

“I got myself–”

“Wow. More accurate than I thought it would be.”

“I know, right? But they said I’m the _cutest_ one.” He spits the word like it’s a foul insult, and Clarke has to grin as she snuggles further under the covers to rest her head on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I thought I was the _hot_ one,” he says, so petulant she starts giggling into his shirt. He frowns at her and flicks her in the forehead. “I’m serious here. Cute is a term people use for elderly men. Am I getting too old to be considered hot? Am I over the hill?”

“Miller has been putting in a lot of hours at the gym lately…” She teases, drumming her fingers on his collar bone in mock thought.

Bellamy makes a disgruntled noise and starts to pull away but she leans up to kiss him before he can. It doesn’t seem to cheer him up, but at this point she’s pretty sure he isn’t upset, just stubborn. So she smiles and kisses him again.

“I definitely still think you’re the hot one,” she says, slipping her hand under the hem of his shirt to scratch lightly at his ribs in the place that always makes him shiver. He wraps a hand around her neck, pulling her in for another kiss, this one longer and harder.

“You have to say that, you’re my wife.”

“And who would know better than me?” She teases, dragging his shirt up as her hand drifts higher on his chest. “Being your wife doesn’t make me biased. It makes me the expert.”

This, at last, makes him smile, his glasses getting knocked askew and his hair ruffling when she pulls his shirt over his head and gives him an appreciative once-over.

“Still hot?” He asks, his hands coming to rest on her waist.

Clarke grins as she slings a leg across his hips, settling in comfortably atop him. One of her favorite places to be.

“Yep,” she says, leaning in for another kiss, and another after that. “I think you still got it.”

**Author's Note:**

> come flail with me on [tumblr](http://katchyalater.tumblr.com) (or don't, I'm not your mom)


End file.
